


A-jobbing I will go

by Quillori



Category: Medieval Manuscript Illustrations
Genre: Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 04:05:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17093714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillori/pseuds/Quillori
Summary: The adventures of an ex-cabbage farmerorsub-optimal employment prospects in the medieval labour market.





	A-jobbing I will go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prinzenhasserin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/gifts).



Well, I’ve done it. I’ve finally got a job. I know you said I should stay at home and grow cabbages, and honestly I was beginning to think you might be right. I mean, I hate cabbages, but this standing around at the fair all day waiting gets a girl down. If they put me in charge, it would be a sight more efficient, I can tell you that. Maybe some sort of record system, organised by skill type? And then someone could fetch you, when required. Better than having to be there all day, rain or sun, with a silly bit of wool or chip of wood in your hat, to indicate what you can do. Or nothing at all, in my case, because it’s not like I know the first thing about being a shepherd or a carpenter or a milkmaid or anything useful like that. And you can be sure I wasn’t sticking a bit of cabbage on my head. If there had been a record system, I’d have put down ‘will try anything that doesn’t involve cabbages’. I’m not going to _invite_ cabbage growers to hire me.

But I was telling you about the job. I think it’s going to be great. There’s this guy, he’s got these big orchards, and I thought maybe he was just looking for people to pick the fruit, but he says he gets lots of fairies up from the down-underworld to do that, and this is a proper, full-time job, with vacation time and everything. I’m to help look after the trees. And after I’ve worked there two years, I’m eligible apply to the Arborist’s guild as a junior associate member. I don’t think junior associate members actually get any privileges, except being allowed to wear a twig in their hat if they’re out of work, which let’s face it just makes them look like they fell asleep in a hedge somewhere and didn’t look in a mirror when they woke up. But still. It’s a proper job, and you could even almost call it a career, sort of, if you stretch the definition of career a bit. I’ll let you know how it goes.

~

It’s so great! I’m definitely going to join the Arborists as soon as I can. How could anyone want to do anything else? I was a bit worried there that it would be just like cabbages, but up in trees. Which is better than bending over all day, but then people fall out of trees and break their legs all the time, so maybe not that much better. But it isn’t like that at all. Do you know what sort of orchards he has? Well, he has some of the normal ones, apples and so on, but I’m in charge of the barnacle geese! Me! And I’ve just been hired. But apparently I interviewed really well, and everyone agreed my cabbage experience was very relevant, and it doesn’t matter at all I don’t know anything about normal geese, because they’re quite different, being birds and all. 

The fruit is very young at the moment - really more barnacle goslings - and they’re so sweet and nice you wouldn’t believe it. Covered in yellow down and cute as buttons, and they make this adorable peeping noise. I think they recognise me, because they always peep and chirp more when they see me, and their little heads turn to watch me. I don’t really have to do much - just make sure the trees are properly watered (but not too wet), and check the leaves are healthy. Oh, and keep an eye out for foxes. There’s a special fence which goes right down into the ground so you can’t tunnel under it, and I go right round it every day to make sure it’s sound. 

~

I’m really settling in here. I got a great deal on a shared hut at the edge of the village. Very convenient for the orchard, big fireplace, straw flooring throughout, and only 8 of us. They don’t want tenants coming and going all the time, the sort of fly-by-nighters who won't take care of things properly, so as long as I was prepared to commit upfront to a two year contract, I got a big reduction in the rent. The goslings remain adorable. They’re getting their first proper feathers now, so they’re turning grey, but they still chirp at me. And they’re so easy to look after, I hardly know what I’m being paid for! 

The first of the fairies are arriving soon. The geese won’t be ready for some time yet (and I’m going to feel so bad about it when they’re picked. They’re more like pets than fruit.). But some of the other fruit ripens earlier, so there’ll be work for them. I’ve never met a fairy before. Everyone says they’re very handsome.

~

They're arses, that’s what they are. The fairies I mean, not the geese. All they do is drink beer all day, and chat up girls. I thought they were meant to be as one with nature, and full of bardic inspiration, and generally decent, respectable supernatural beings. But apparently they like to come here on their year off before studying any bardic wisdom (or getting a proper job, if any of them ever intend to do anything that might interfere with going down the pub). So they come over here, in groups, and get drunk, and spew miscast spells everywhere when they get into fights with the local lads. We had a plague of toats the other day. Don’t know what a toat is? Nor did I. Apparently it’s a type of tool. (I can tell you another type of tool we have too many of here at the moment!). Well, specifically it’s the handle of a tool. The entire thing might have had some value, so naturally we just get part of it. Some idiot meant to inflict toads on us, and instead you can’t walk down the street without stubbing your toe on a chunk of carefully turned and entirely useless wood. I found two in bed with me this morning. Very lumpy. 

~

The geese too. Are arses, I mean. I don’t know what happened to them? They were so sweet, always turning their heads to follow me. Apparently they were just plotting how best to eat me? Seriously, I don’t know how many times I’ve been pecked. Talk about death by a thousand cuts. And no more chirping. No, it’s all hisses now. And what do they need wings for anyway? They just hang there on trees till we cut them down and eat them. But wings they have all the same, and they can catch you a right wallop with them too. I’m black and blue all over, except where I’m pecked to pieces. And of course now there’s all sorts of things I have to do for them, cleaning their feathers, and thinning out the leaves around them, so they get plenty of sun, and watering them carefully every day. I keep having nightmares where I’m in the orchard and I realise the geese are overripe and dropping off the trees by themselves, and suddenly I’m surrounded by this bloodthirsty hissing throng, wings raised, necks out towards me, desperate for blood. Not nice at all. 

~

Geese if anything worse. I’d quit, except there’s the rent on the hut. You know what? Sod it. I’m quitting, even if lose everything I’ve made so far paying for that wretched hut. _And_ it has mice, and not just up in the thatch. They’re getting bolder and bolder (rather like the geese), and now they've started coming down and racing round the floor. I woke up yesterday (right on time, no need for an alarm with my regularly scheduled barnacle geese nightmare to wake me up!) and there was a mouse just sitting there not three feet away, looking at me like I was the one in its house. I threw a toat at it.

~

Totted it all up and couldn’t afford to leave until I got my post-harvest bonus. And you know who turns out to own the hut? Yes, that’s right: your friendly neighbourhood orchardist. He claims his wise woman advised him to diversify and branch out into property. My new idea for organising the jobbing fair: forget record systems; reform the bit-of-stuff-in-your-hat system. Clearly the important thing to advertise is what you won’t do. In my case, I need a snappy way to convey I don’t work with cabbages or geese. Admittedly all the peck-marks and bruising, and my new habit of jumping two feet in the air if I hear a hissing noise, probably conveys at least the second part quite well. I inclose, with extreme prejudice, a recipe for barnacle goose. Please eat as many of the damn things as possible, and then maybe go poison the trees. And if they chirp at you, _ignore it_. 

~

Things are looking up! I’ve got a new job. I was a bit worried at first, because they asked me about cabbages, and about the orchard, but I think they just wanted to know if I was diligent and hardworking, because they mostly checked up whether I’d spent enough time removing pests, caterpillars and gizzard worms and aphids and so forth, not if I had green thumbs. So I don’t think this is just cover for more farm work. Actually, I think it’s going to be really exciting. I’m providing back-up and routine servicing for Squire Corp., which specialises in ridding the country of irritating and costly monsters which are still too minor for any of the big knight-errant firms. Cost effective and reliable services for the small kingdom owner! 

So far we’ve dealt with a catoblepas, a bishop fish, and a large flock of ercinee birds. Well, I say we, but obviously the actual squires do most of the work. I hang around in the background ready to rush forward with new weapons if they break something, and I clean all the gear afterwards. But it’s still pretty cool. Also, I should think it’s pretty profitable business, so maybe I can work my up the ranks a bit, learn how everything works, save up some money, maybe start my own business one day. There really aren’t as many people offering services in this sector as you’d expect. The thing is, not only do the petty kings pay pretty well, there are obviously lots of incidental profits as well. Take the catoblepas. I can see it was pretty irritating for the local farmers, with it wandering around staring at the ground, turning their fields to stone. And it wasn’t doing much for trade or tourism, when travellers knew it might manage to look up at any moment and turn them to stone too.

But, when you think about it, a catoblepas could be a pretty valuable beast. I thought we might be going to kill it - you know the sort of thing you hear in ballads: so-and-so took up his spear, tiddle-um tiddle-um, then he drew his great sword, tiddle-dee, and generally quite a lot of hacking in pieces small. But of course it wasn’t like that at all. What the ballads don’t mention is the specialist catoblepas transporter, taking it off to the Squire Corps. roads and civic monuments division, where it’s been put to work making nice stone roads, and knocking out the odd statue. I hope none of the statues are of people, but I don’t quite like to ask. 

The ercinee birds were much the same. Yes a plague of phosphorescent birds must be a bit of a pain, and everyone was complaining about light pollution and the growing cycle being upset by all that artificial daylight, but those glowing feathers are very much sought after by glow-in-the-dark sign makers, and candle-less lantern makers, and even people making novelty costumes for feasts. I did worry a bit they were going to put me to work looking after them, but no, I just had clean the glowing feather dust of everything and sew up the odd claw mark. 

The only thing they didn’t have any use for was the bishop fish. He doesn’t do anything useful, just climbs out of the river, drags himself into people’s homes, or the nearest tavern, helps himself to any food and drink going (particularly the latter), and delivers long sermons. But he was delicious lightly grilled over an open fire with butter and rosemary, so that worked out alright.

At the moment I’m on probation, working with the special requests division, dealing with one-off problems. That way I’ll get a wide range of experience. If they take me on full time, I’ll be transferred over to one of their permanent teams, working for a limited number of regular clients, so I won’t know till then where exactly I’ll be based. I’ll write and let you know.

~

Passed my probationary period with flying colours! Can’t wait to meet my new colleagues. I’ve already found somewhere to live ( _not_ owned by Squire Corp. - I did check!), and looked around the area a bit. It’s very nice - rural without being too rural, a pleasant little town with a good market, and a very pretty castle on the hill, with pennants everywhere and a drawbridge. (No moat though! They’re still saving up for that.)

I wonder what sort of thing we’ll mostly be dealing with? I understand most areas have one or two sorts of pests that are really common, that they spend almost all their time on. I guess bishop fish are too much to hope for!

~

Snails. It’s bloody snails. Great big giant ones. They get slime _everywhere_. And it is, you guessed it, muggins here who gets to clean it back off. That’s it. That’s my new role: cleaning snail slime off stuff. Well, no, that’s not quite all I do. I also get to supervise the supply of bait. And do you know what they use as bait? Come on, you know without me having to say, don’t you? Yes, it’s cabbages. Lots and lots of cabbages.

~

Hi there, it’s your sister again. You may not want to show this one to Mum and Dad. Tell them I’m still with Squire Co., or I’ve rethought cabbage farming, or anything you like. Actually, I’ve run off to the city (well, to a particularly big town) and gone on the game. I am NOT doing anything even slightly adjacent to farming ever again. 

Now look, I know you’re probably upset, but it’s really not like you’re thinking. I’m not standing around on street corners, or anything like that. It’s all really upmarket, and I’m working in a very good part of town. There are these, well I suppose you’d call them brothels, but no-one here does, on account of them being very expensive and exclusive. They call them ‘Houses’ - you know, the House of the Blushing Peach, the House of the Crowing Cock, that kind of thing, and each one is run as a sort of co-operative. You sign on for a set number of years, like a sort of indenture, or an apprenticeship - you do work for the House and get trained in return - and then if you’re good enough you become a full partner, and get to draw a share of the profits. 

I really didn’t know if they’d take me on - some of the girls are so pretty, and so sophisticated - but apparently innocent country girls are really sought after. So I played up that angle for all I was worth, and I ended up with several Houses offering for me! I should have done this from the start. 

I start work tomorrow. I don’t know exactly what I’ll be doing first, but I’ve been assigned a mentor who says she’s going to teach me everything I need to know about handling cocks, so it should be fun. (And yes, she does mean penises. I had an awful moment there when I wondered if she meant cockerels, because seriously, NO MORE FARMWORK OF ANY DESCRIPTION, and also I expect cockerels are as vicious as geese. But no, I’m definitely to be handling real, live penises.) Anyway, I can’t wait.

~

Oh, come off it. Seriously? What is my life? What have I done to deserve this? Am I cursed? Enclosed, one picture of me hard at work at my new job. I hate my life.


End file.
